Updates for 2014-2015

I said I'd be doing the bucket list last time I posted here- and forgot about it all.

Is that bad? Nope.  That told me that my life kept me busy.

I have increased in volunteering, participating in social justice and reproductive justice activism lately!    However to talk about my social justice activism would make it all about me, not the communities that the spotlight need to be on.  Please read blogs by women of color; participate in groups run by trans people; and listen with no intention to interrupt or go 'but' to stories of disabled people.  

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I saw the play "Our Town"  in January 2014.     All I can say is.. it blew me away.     If the play comes to your town, go see it!     Yes, it may feel boring- stick to it and you'll realize how accurate it is to your life.

Actors Theater's 'Our Town'

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In the past two years, I had been pressured to give/donate some labyrinth paintings I created to organizations or individuals.    I had not felt comfortable with that; yes I even resented that encouragement, pressure.   That included being asked to give workshops on labyrinth mediation/walking for free.    What gives?   Do one really think that art or education should be free all the time?  

When I paint, that includes the cost of materials, frame, canvas, length of time- could cost between $75-200.  Yet when I put $90-350 on the paintings, I am told that I am greedy.  !!!

When I come to do a labyrinth workshop, that includes mileage, cost of gas, hotel stay, sometimes rental of the room, length of time, and time away from my job.   Yet when I check whether they will pay me for the workshop, (usually 200-450), I'm told that they cannot afford that.  Yet it's okay for me to pay to fill up my gas, drive 150 miles, and pay for overnight stay at the hotel. Okay......

So I had dug my heels in and said no more, I'm not gonna donate/give paintings away, nor do my workshops for free anymore.   Did that stop people?  Nope-   others realized the value- I had sold six paintings in the last six months!  To me,that's a big step.  Workshops-  I had been asked to do a workshop later this year, and they made an offer to pay for the hotel stay and my airfare, so to me, that's a fair trade.


In 2014, I had gone to the Michigan Womyn's Musical Festival, in which I had fallen in love with.  For the first time ever in my life, I felt safe. I could walk down the road at 3am, not looking over my shoulder, which I did so- walking under the moonlight!  Camped among fellow spirits.  Only one minus about that was that there were no workshops about infertility/childless choice/not by choice.  I recall telling members who have been attending the festival for many years as they could recall, that there IS a labyrinth built on the land, and to be told "no there isn't, unless you mean the labyrinth by ribbon over there."  I was persistent- following my gut, and I found the stone labyrinth!  It had been built a long time ago, so many old members let it slide from their memories.

I came back in 2015, saddened that it would be the last year for the festival.  Heartened that I got to give a workshop on the labyrinth walking- in end, the attendees got to see the stone labyrinth- lets hope that whatever happens to the land, the stone labyrinth will be always be there.  This time, my best friend Roni came and experienced the magic of the festival.  I also volunteered most of the time at the orientation/welcome area, the Deaf haven and the kitchen.  I realized from 2014, volunteering was where I was most happy, and so I did that again last year.


I walked in the 2014 Zombie Walk in Louisville- it was a blast of fun!    Saw so many zombies, yet so little time to see them all!
















I took a break from writing the book, since I found myself stuck with the 'writer's block' (obviously here too in the blog!).

For 2014 and 2015 Goodreads, of 150 and 200 books, achieved, although realizing that with that pressure in the last year, I found myself disinterested in reading. So for now, I'm not going to read just for the sake of 'Goodreads' goals, but for my own pleasure.

In 2015, I had done some travels-  to NJ, OH, IN, CO and KS.

I had also lost my grandmother, June back in July.  Throughout growing up, she had been there a steadfast anchor for me.  When relatives hesitated in learning sign language, she dived in and became skillful so we can communicate to each other- she made sure that I was part of the family, instead of staying in the shadows.  She encouraged me greatly to start reading when I was a toddler; she fanned the flames of reading within me, non-stopping in handing me books to consume.  In the last years, she had been a shadow of who she was, due to dementia, no longer remembering anyone, not even me the last time I saw her. So when I got the news she died, I explored the mixture of grief and relief at the same time- feeling relief that her suffering had ended, yet grieving that she is gone.    At the funeral, I wrote her eulogy, echoing her values in reading and writing.  I still miss her.

And my VW Jetta Sweetheart, bought in 2003, had bit the dust only two months ago.  I got a new Kia Soul-   more room for camping trips!

Looking back, the bucket list have looked harder than it was, and so I decided for the next five years, I will stick to the five goals.

Pay off Debt
Travel out of country
Save
Buy/Build a tiny house.
Re-assess my life and see where I want to go from here.

And for the childless not by choice part in my life?    I realized that I AM a mother in other ways.  To my furkids, I am their mom. I am an aunt spoiling my 3 years old nephew, who now finds himself a Star Wars fan like me, and the twins(boy and girl!) just born to my brother and sister-in-law two months ago.  Being a mentor to several young women is enriching.  So in general, I have made peace with the childless aspect.   Of course, the book about me is unfinished, there is a lot more to write- the plot may change.  And you know what? I look forward to surprises popping up on the next few pages.

Tree

Before the surgery, I had always loved the tree- Christmas tree, Yuletide log, Holiday tree as long as I could remember from my childhood.   Looking up at the tree, I had thought the lights as fairies holding candles, stars sparking out of the night, a beacon for Santa Claus to come and drop off presents.    A family tradition to get a tree, decorate it, and bask in the tree lights, with the darkness around us.

Looking back, I realized the tree also was an example of family, everyone getting together front of the tree, to open presents, to enjoy each other, and be reminded of what family is supposed to be.


Supposed to be.

Sixteen years ago, I got a very BIG tree-  7'5 tree, so thick that you'd need two persons on each side, to help decorate the tree (woe be the person in back/corner, having to move by inch, hoping he wouldn't knock the tree down!).   Sixteen years ago, I thought I would have a family; a husband to love, and children to see the magic in their eyes.

(source)

I faithfully put up the tree every year, thinking "next year, I'll find someone and have a child."


I had relationships, however, I couldn't picture myself living with each of those guys permanently, and I was unfortunately right.    The last relationship had burned me badly, and I found that singlehood was much better for me.    I then looked into getting pregnant, and that didn't work out; two miscarriages were the result before I noticed the bump that led to the surgery.

The surgery wiped out my hope of having a family.  Children.


Last year, I found myself reluctantly putting up the tree. I found out that I had an hate-love relationship with the tree.

There would be the days I would look at the tree, with tears in my eyes.  

Some days, I'd glance at the tree, thinking there's still hope.

Other days, I wanted so badly to toss the tree out the window, chop it up and toss it into a bonfire.

After the holiday, I decided the tree had to go.  I donated the tree and ornaments to a shelter for domestic violence survivors, so the survivors and children can enjoy the tree in a safe place.

For the last six weeks, I found myself swinging between a desire for a tree and not wanting a tree.   A friend, who spent the road trip with me, encouraged me to get a tree. We didn't get one- and I found that I'm glad about that.  I love her, but I didn't like the pressure, not when I didn't feel ready.

I still searched for trees while surfing Internet, finding myself annoyed when catching myself doing that.

After talking with my therapist a few days ago, about the tree, I realized something.

The 7'5 tree-  it was for my family to be. My dream children.    Hope for family and children.   

Hence the tree never had belonged to ME. It had belonged to my family that was supposed to happen. 

After the catharsis, I then knew what to do.

I looked at trees, taking my time.    Tonight, I went to Target to get some package boxes so I'd mail stuff to family in Kansas, when I thought to myself "why not look at the trees here?"

I saw that the trees were on sale for 50% off. I went, "well, there's this tree I like, don't know if there'd be any left."

I went around the corner to find that the tree model that I liked, was still there, but no packages beneath the low raiser that the floor model was placed on.  I was thinking fatalistically, "that's that..." when a staff member stopped by and asked if he could help me. I shrugged and pointed at where the tree was, "no more packages. All out."

"We can pack this floor model tree for you, 75% off for you."

Serious? 
Serious?  
Is he serious?!  

I knew then that the tree was meant for ME.    Jules, the woman I am, on my own journey, exploring the world.

I took the tree home.    I put it up, decorating it with new ornaments, with some ornaments I kept from my trips to New Orleans and Britain.

This is MY tree.

Love relatives, but they can be hazardous.

Back from the family visit.   The celebration of Grandma H's 95th birthday was awesome, especially with reuniting with some relatives that I hadn't seen in more than a decade (or two).  It's always comforting to be with family...a joy to reunite with brothers and dad, yet it's bittersweet, seeing cousins bending over to talk with their little girls, or throwing balls with their boys.   My emotions were plummeting, then going up- pretty much an emotional roller coaster.

http://pandawhale.com/post/11983/roller-coaster-pov-gifs

It was also significant that I met my toddler nephew for the first time.  I was anxious, staring at him wondering when I could touch him without me shattering.   My SIL was sweet yet aware, so she didn't push him toward me. We did it in small steps, such as me sitting next to him, then me touching his hands- you get the idea.  Gradually, it was pretty much as walking into the cool water, getting body adjusted to the temperature, you know?  In time, I was able to hold him but not long.  He isn't the type to cuddle, and at this time, I'm all right with that.  It was humble to find that I already love him at sight, and I do look forward to see him again.  SIL and I are talking about doing that again in a few months.


I was pleasantly surprised about numerous relatives being supportive, not pushing for me to socialize with children until I was ready. After a few hours, I was able to talk with some cousins' children, especially one pretty much a clone of me-  a book-lover, geek, liking math and science.  Imagine a 11 years old girl and a woman in her 40's chatting about graphic novels and pre-teen books (such as Harry Potter- we both found we absolutely LOVE Hermione Granger!)  One relative even brought up adoption fundraising- I was touched that she has some awareness how this option can be challenging in terms of finances.    I admitted to her that I have been thinking about that.

In all, the family visit was much better than I expected when it came to my emotions. I didn't break down. I didn't cry.  I didn't hide in the bathroom (well, I did hide in public in a way.) I didn't avoid the pregnant relatives.

That's a good step, in my opinion.


It was two days later, when it was time for me to fly home.  The flight was in the afternoon, so  I stopped by to see my other grandma (with dementia) in the morning. I wanted to grab some more time with her, she was becoming very fragile. It was when I was about to hug her, when she patted my stomach and said "you're pregnant?"

A crack in the shield.  That moment, I knew I was going to lose it.  I tightened up my shields and smiled, while telling her no I wasn't, that I was plump.    Then the aunt wanted to stop by a store to get something, on way to the airport, so I went along with her. 

When I realized where she was going, I was thinking, "you're kidding me or what?"   Nope, she was going to the baby section, the least place I needed to go, especially now.  I called out I was going to the restroom, instead. I waited for her outside.  

So, when the layover was in Chicago, there was two hours before the flight back into town.  I gave myself something I deserved for not losing it all, like crying on the floor.  

Got an Upside-down pineapple drink, finding a corner to myself, and started reading my new book, "Quiet: The Power of Introverts in a World that can't stop talking." 

Fast Forward

(from movie "The Princess and the Frog")

I didn't realize 'til now that I am flying to see family in a few days.    Where did time go?    

Summer flew by faster than I expected- as if someone pushed the "fast forward" on a channel remote and it is all a blur.  

I couldn't figure if that was great or that it went fast by-  don't get me wrong-  there was some days that was totally awesome (hadn't yet shared my post on another blog- 506 reads in one day, and a lot of comments- WOW!- That's a record for me.)  Other days, not so great, and the rest of days, you know how that was. 

The trip to see the family is making me anxious.   A part of me is excited; I hadn't seen some cousins in 20 years, and we'll be celebrating our grandmother's 95th birthday this coming weekend.  A part of me is a bag of emotions- it'll be the first time I'll see my nephew in person- he just had become 1 year old. I hadn't yet put words on those emotions.     Another part is sad- I'll be seeing my other grandmother, who is dealing with dementia, which I had written about:  Remembrance.    Her dementia is worsening to the point that she is not able to complete sentences anymore, or remember anyone but Grandpa (who died in my 20's).  

So you have it....all juggling with emotions.

And they call it a vacation?   My ass.  

My house.

You came in the house.   You looked around, noticing the placement of furniture.  The decorations.   The curtains.  The lights.  The texture of the walls, and the floor.  you went, "Hmm."

You immediately imagined how you'd change this chair from the window to a corner- "it would look better that way."

You gave in and moved a little statue from a side table to the mantle.   Emboldened, you relocated a plant from the corner of mantle to a corner where the window is.

You got yourself hooked- you moved the stuff to another room, to paint the walls in a color you like, "that's who I am."  You replaced the carpet, for something that is more to your taste.

You then found yourself moving around the furniture-  the sofa, now upholestered in a fabric you prefer, is now in the center, not against a wall anymore, "to make it two rooms."  The armchair that was resting in one corner is now at one side of the sofa.   You replaced the shades of the lamps for something you like, "the shades looked so old, time to bring in new!"

You went through the books, tossing out books that made you go "eww" "nasty", and then re-organized the books you determined worthy to keep, alphabetically.

You replaced the art on the wall, that defines you.


Can you see the problem here?

You just changed MY house, into something that YOU like, to define YOU, never mind that it's MY house.
The house, who is an echo of who I am, my personality- and you attempted to change all that to match YOU, to make you feel comfortable, to match your expectations.


That's the problem- 
You tell me how to get better; you're just moving MY sofa to one other side of the room. 
You proclaim to me on what to do with my health; you're re-organizing MY books. 
You give unasked advice about how I "should" handle my grief; you're upholestering MY favorite armchair.
You, uninvited, try to fix the issue that I live with; you're putting artwork on MY walls, pretty much a band-aid.
You get frustrated or angry about how I deal with my own mental/emotional health, on my own time; you're replacing MY carpet for a rug you prefer.
And you declare your displeasure about my journey; you're painting MY walls in your favorite color.

You're trying to change me into someone you think I should be, when it's NOT who I am.   At first I was going to say "I'm sorry for disappointing you, not meeting your expectations," when I realized no... it's YOU who should apologize for trying to change me into someone I am not. 

Would anyone wonder why I'd toss you out the door if you tried to change my house?


******* This post is for us who go through the infertility journey, dealing with good-intended yet hurtful advice, and judgmental comments.  Can also apply for individuals living with chronic illness, grief, trauma, mental illness, domestic violence, recovery, etc.*******

Coal

Ouch....  One has to do all the paperwork, the fees (at least 18,000 dollars) in total of fees such as adoption study fee, U.S. processing, adoption program, etc, etc..and all that would be from 12-36 months, even with that, there's still the risk that one might not be approved.

Looking at the child who needs to be adopted soon, I determined, I didn't want him to wait that long (especially that I hadn't done any start on adopting process, even less the application)- if there's a family who can give him a forever home sooner than I could... that's what he needs.  

At least, I tried. 

Of course, that's easier to say.  

In response, I had found myself buying toys and snacks for my furry kids. I had a good time filling two darling stockings I found at Target; Lola and Hairy would absolutely love the presents!  Lola and Hairy are  opposites.   Hairy likes sedate objects, brain-stimulating (like toys that have snacks in them, not easily dispersing), while Lola likes fetch-able toys (tennis balls, squeaky small dolls that can be thrown, etc).  Hairy likes to be brushed and groomed, while Lola prefers shirts and bows.   She really thinks she's a human baby. so that's a win-win for me.

Anyway, there was a complication, in which I suspect why my response was stronger to the Facebook announcement of the deaf child seeking adoption as I shared in the last post.  You see-  my cousin and his wife had their second baby more than a week ago.   Don't get me wrong, I'm happy for them.    It's like... everyone are having babies more often in the family. I'm trying to exercise a reality check with myself to remind that it's not because of me, but that it's the young folks wanting to have children.  However a darker voice within my heart states: "You sure they aren't trying to have babies just to avoid becoming infertile like you?" 

I try to swat that question away, but sometimes it's harder to do so on some days- sometimes I wish I am deaf  to that horrible demon pitching self-guilty accusations and self-blaming barbs at me.  

Earlier today, I had a thought, watching the very pregnant co-worker waddling across the room; 

This year I'm getting coal from Santa.  

Well-  if I had a coal burner, I could stay warm.   

Shopping and Bias against disabled parents



Thanksgiving had come and gone.  It was somewhat good, just with mom and some neighbors.    Now, we gotta hope that Xmas would come and be gone without any incidents, like weeping.  I can't say it won't happen.  

I had gone to the baby department of Macy's to get some clothes for my baby nephew, one of his holiday gifts...and it was harder than I thought.  Even more at the book store.  Some of you have read a post that I wrote much earlier this year, of how much I love reading. So getting books for the nephew was tough, looking at books, thinking "if I had a child, I could get that...." eyeing 'Boot and Shoe', "or this", of another book 'Star Wars Alphabet'.   

Bottom line, I got clothes and books for the baby nephew and they are all wrapped, soon to be mailed.  :::pat on my shoulder:: 

 I did it. 

While reading posts and articles on Facebook (yup, I have an account there, nothing to be embarrassed about.), I saw an article shared by a good friend.  Its title grabbed my attention "Facing Bias, loss of children, disabled parents should get more support, advocates say."    I clicked on it to read.

After reading, I feel validated that what I have gone through with planning to have a child, or adoption...  you see, it'd be hard to adopt as a single woman... even more as a deaf single woman who uses American Sign Language as her communicative language.    I have always had a fear that if I had a child, in my 20's and 30's, that I'd have to go through court to fight to keep the child, especially with my maternal family- I love 'em, but there's a bias that deaf cannot do anything.  They'd think I'd put the child in danger just because I can't hear.   So that's one of many reasons why I hesitated getting pregnant.  It was only when I became 40 and more confident in myself, I decided "hell with them, I'll get pregnant- and if that comes to court for custody of the child, I'll fight like hell." 

That didn't work out, dear readers. Despite some success getting pregnant, none had gone past the first trimester.     

Then, I looked into adoption, I read about requirements of international adoption, and of articles about surrogate mothers/single women (or with lesbian partners) trying to get pregnant with semen from deaf donors- and I have noticed folks in those articles had fought.  Some won..and some lost, especially with deaf semen donors and some international adoption.  Even some local adoption would put disabled individuals last on the waiting list to adopt...  

*sigh*     some days I'm pushing up my sleeves and say "bring it on!'  and on other days, I feel hopeless. 

It has been more of the latter feelings for those days-  rare to experience the former feeling of confidence...  I can only hope I'd experience that more often- not now, but perhaps next year or so...

I want to say "Bring it on" to fight for my right to have children, even if they are adopted or foster or by surrogate mother someday and stick to it.  I want to have hope...

Like the photo says..hope is a bitch. 

Remembrance

As y'all know, I had been away visiting family for a week last month.   Don't get me wrong, I love my family- but that trip was also very emotional.

Very emotional.

Grandma has dementia.  Relatives had told me how bad it is, although I kept hoping that it is not that bad as they said- I was thinking back to seniors that I helped taken care of at a senior center many years ago. 

Seeing my grandma, it was both bad and good. 

Relatives took me to see her at a memory care center.  Seeing me, Grandma brightened up as if I was the sun. She opened her arms, I entered them, feeling her love and warmth. It was so obvious she was  happy to see me after a year and half.    To relatives' surprise, Grandma tried to sign- and I recognized some of them- giving me hope that she did indeed recall how we communicate (I was dreading that she'd try to talk with me, forgetting our mode of communication).  We talked a bit, although we wrote forth and back (relative voiced for me.)  I observed that she had lost a lot of weight, she is much smaller.   I kept my tears inward, knowing that if I wept front of her, she'll cry too.  She's certainly empathic.    I left promising that I'll visit her again (daily). 

My aunt cautioned me that Grandma might not remember that I had already visited her, the next time I see her.    That reminded me of one senior consumer I worked with-  basically each day is the first day for her- just like in the movie the 50 first dates. I'd come in, not knowing what to expect from her.  Most of times, working with her was a good experience- most of times. 

The next time I saw Grandma-  she was equally so happy to see me- and I realized- she didn't remember seeing me yesterday.    

My heart broke.  I ached for her. I felt tears filling up in my eyes, and I fought hard not to let them spill out. 

 Watching her and Aunt K chattering,   I realized something.  no matter what, she still remembers loving me, even if it is anew daily. 

And that day when we had the interpreter (as I spoke of in a previous post, not being happy due to the not-qualified interpreter), again Grandma was so happy to see me, not recalling that we had been together the day before.  The interpreter did try to take up the conversation, telling of her own church interpreting or of her children in which I interrupted telling her that it's NOT about her.. It's about me and Grandma, It's our time together.  I found myself balancing my patience and tolerance of the interpreter who kept misunderstanding me, so I'd have to repeat myself two or three times, knowing that I'm losing time (and grandma's energy). 

At that time, I realized I had a gift that Grandma had given to me for years, and this gift is now time to share with her back. 

"Do you remember the house fire?"  Grandma asked. 

The relatives were puzzled- they were uncertain what she was talking about.

I nodded, "yes, which one- one in Henderson or your family home?"  She beamed, "my family home."  That was when she was a child.  I affirmed remembering what she told me.   She was so happy. 

She then talked about cooking certain foods when she was young, or of the pond near her home, and I validated, recalling them with her.  

You see, Grandma had told me her stories when we cooked in the kitchen, me being six years old.   She shared funny childhood stories as we shopped for clothes to fit my adolescent body. She disclosed to  me of  tough times as she grew up while I was visiting her from college.

No one had closely paid attention to her history throughout many years.  I may be deaf, but I listened and memorized her stories.  I wrote them down in my journals as I grew up.  And now I still remember them, now important to her now that she cannot remember her late years, but of only her childhood to when cousins and I were children.    

So those are her stories, her history, her life.  She is re-living her life in the stories, and that's what I can do, and I did.  I remember her stories. 


On the last day, I hugged her, not knowing if I will see her again.  So she knows something, and  we looked at each other.  She did not want to let go.   I glanced back at the door, and she was already disappearing into herself on the sofa. 

She is living in her memories, and I will write this down, another note in my journal, to memorize. 

Another part of Grandma for me to cherish in memory, even with the heartbreak. 

The Yellow Brick Road

I'm taking a time out to spend time with family for the coming week(s) in the state where Dorothy Gale lived with her dog Toto.   

I love my family, thro sometimes it is a toss-up on when I'd find myself in favor by family here and there.   There is an ailing grandmother; she is in a nursing home, and is not doing great. In the past, Grandma and I could write forth and back, we had interesting conversations that way!  No longer, could that continue due to Grandma's becoming blind. I asked for an interpreter so we'd have a long good talk, me and Grandma, when I'm in town.   Well, one church interpreter said she'll do it.  I'm not too keen on church interpreters- it's not because of the church itself.  Church interpreters usually know signs according to the church preaching-  you'd not find them use general signs (such as airport, restaurant, politics, London, tea, etc). If the word is not in the Bible, then the interpreter wouldn't know the sign.  See the dilemma here?     When I stated that I'd prefer a certified interpreter, I was told that I should be grateful for what I got.   

........................    

I want to talk with my grandma, before she passes away, and if I could not really TALK with her because the interpreter is "rusty reading signs (American Sign Language)", I should be grateful?  

It is just like being grateful that I'm alive, that the fibroid along with the uterus removal was not cancerous. 

I should be grateful that I have friends that could "share" their children with me, so I could "vicariously" live through pregnancy or raising children.

I ought be grateful that I don't have to "worry" about hair-pulling drama of children, I'd not go red-eyed through the night like the friends who are biting their teeth over their kids learning to drive; seeing a school-aged kid riding a bike for the first time; or the pre-teen testing their independence. 

You know what?     I don't care anymore.  I'm tired of people presuming that I "should" be happy with this, or that, or the thing-  all because folks who saying all this, are attempting to make themselves feeling better.  Never mind, it only makes me feel worse.  

So I'll go.  I'll see grandma, and see the failure of communication between me and Grandma, due to the "church interpreter" that I should be grateful for.  I will come home with a bitter taste on my tongue, and with my heart breaking, knowing that I may not have another opportunity to converse  with Grandma.  

I know I am angry right now.    I had been passive, swallowing my pride, being grateful for whenever they'd find neighbor's cousin's boyfriend's sister who knows "a bit of sign language" for a relatives funeral, in the past.  I had groaned, rolling my eyes, and suggested two different interpreting services available in town, to be told "they are too expensive," NEVER MIND that I had offered to pay out of my pocket, at a family wedding.  

Reading the "Hearing privilege" article, I found one fitting for this: Hearing privilege is representing yourself.  Knowing your exact choice of words are used.  You do not have to wait for an interpreter.  You do not have to wonder if the interpreter will be skilled or qualified. (Exploring Hearing Privilege).   

And to add one other: Hearing privilege means that you can expect that all members of your family can and will communicate fluently in your first language. 

Not many folks understand- I have to fight for this almost everyday.  If not at work, then at the hospital.  If not at the hospital, then at the workshops at a convention.   

Sometimes I wonder if being childless also contributes, to the point when I'd try to find a connection, if not by deafness, then by children.    The Deaf community in town highly value children to the point, every Deaf women I had encountered, had children. Unspoken rule, but it's there- "No children, you're unseen."   Young Deaf women who hadn't yet have children, are poked at, "When will you get married? You're not getting any younger" and they are subtly regarded of  "as a freak" if not pregnant or not having children.  Once it is found that I don't have children, I'm not welcome in the deaf groups.  Very nice.   

I don't even WANT to know about what my family was thinking when they found that I had to have my hysterectomy, knowing there were many families out there that dread having their deaf adults becoming parents, in fear that their grandchildren could be deaf (never mind that deaf children born to deaf parents are at 5% compared to deaf children born to hearing parents (more than 90%.)  I truly don't want to know.  

You know, I'm tired.    

At least, somewhere on the yellow brick road, I hope not to find my heart broken.  The scarecrow can keep his brain- this is more a situation for emotional than intellectual.  The lion can retain his courage- I'm tired of being strong.  

And yes, I'm aware of the black cloud above my head lately, and that's why I'm going on a vacation- I hope to find labyrinths in town, to use my new camera to photograph vintage towns, and get together with friends that I hadn't seen since high school.  

Silence

I saw something on Facebook, which threw me off-balance.     I saw photos of my dead cousin.

You see, my cousin died a few days after his 27th birthday while I was in graduate school some years ago.   Due to a delicate timing (comprehensive examinations), I couldn't fly out there to attend the funeral, with family also encouraging me to stay in school.   Was easier for the family and easier for me as well for me not to go.

Since then, I had been wondering.   I know that my aunt had been aching badly after her son's death- to have a child die before the parent's time, that has to be the worst moment ever.  I know she have increased in keeping in touch with me since then....   

I admit, I wept but shortly when I was told the news. 

 It was only later on when there was a dance performance on campus, when they announced the performers would honor the soldiers afar, their mission, their willingness to fight, and to remember the ones who died-   watching the dance, I broke down.  I dashed to the bathroom, crying.  I wept talking with the professor who followed me.    I realized I hadn't processed the death.  

To this day,I hadn't yet visited his grave.  It has been four years since....   

I remember when he was a bald baby.  I remember when I held his hand when we walked through the family peach orchard when he was four.  I remember encouraging him as we tried to capture tadpoles in the flooded ditches on the family farm when he was eight.  

http://www.mexicanpictures.com/headingeast/snapshots/

Very chattering, he chased after other cousins, as I read my romances, me being in my twenties, annoyed at their attempts to distract me.  He and other cousins in their adolescences laughed as we lit the fireworks.  

We did not talk to each other once he hit his late adolescence- but for hugging or nodding at each other which had continued for a bit less than fifteen years.  It was not that we didn't like each other-  just that he didn't know what to say to me, and neither did I.  I knew sign language and he didn't, and I regret, that was an obstacle between us. 

I remember when he came back from his first tour from Afghanistan-  his laughing eyes no longer, but eyes black full of dark memories.    

I remember the last time I saw him,  he was very quiet.     He had been out of Marines for a long while, and I was relieved that he came out okay-   but he wasn't okay, after all.  

I remember when he came up to me during the holiday before, and asked if we could hang out-  I was surprised, yet not surprised.  I knew he was hurting.  My guts told me, he needed to be with someone who would not expect him to be strong.  What was surprising, was that he asked me.  What could I do to help him if we couldn't communicate?

So we went on a car ride.  On that road trip, a long drive-  he smoked-  now he knew I didn't like smoking, but I kept quiet- I knew he just needed company.     Just someone who'd be there yet not talking.

Silence deep, heartfelt.    The silence; it was fulfilling what he was searching within.   We returned back home, and he held me long. I could feel him sobbing in his chest, as I held him.   

He needed what was given, to be vulnerable, and to be loved for himself.  

When I found out how he died, I was not surprised.     I loved him and I forgave him.  

So, seeing photos on Facebook, that had not been shared at all until now, by a friend who hung out with the cousin, and now his brother, the older brother;  I found myself back on a remembrance flashback.  

I found myself smiling seeing the photo of him smiling and flipping the bird in one photo, yet my heart ached when seeing one other photo of him wearing an Marine service uniform, and one other photo, the face recognizable yet unrecognizable to me, of a stranger in his body.   

And I realize something.    I envy him.  He had no children, yet he will be always remembered.  He was just like James Dean or River Phoenix; their young lives cut short and abruptly.   Sudden, a child that died before the parent, which should not have happened.   Parents are supposed to go before the children, yet he died before his parents. His mom is still grieving;  so does his family.  I find myself hurting too.  Looking back to seeing him as a child, then teenager, and then an adult-  I cannot imagine losing a child after getting to know him.

We did not talk.  I did not get to know what he liked to do (except for fishing- that we had in common).  But I learned something on that day on the long road trip going nowhere-  He was tired of being strong.  

And so was I.     

And so am I now.   

I'm tired of being strong. I'm tired of "looking fine."  Not everything is fine, ladies.   By tomorrow, it would have been six months since the surgery, the execution of fertility; curtains down on my dreams for carrying a baby of mine.  

Unlike many of you readers,  I don't have a partner, spouse or someone to be my cheerleader, my booster, someone to keep my sanity, someone to help keep me going.  I don't have someone who'd poke his head in while I was showering, to ask, "you seen my keys?"  I don't have someone to remind me that there is other definitions of family, which does not have to include children.  I don't have someone to hold me in bed and whisper, "it's okay, I'm here."  I'm single, and being alone going through the thunderstorm-

you know what? 

It sucks.  And.  I'm.  Drained physically. Tired emotionally. Exhausted spiritually.  

This coming weekend and next week, I'm going down a thousand miles to see my family that I had not seen for more than a year.  

I will get to visit my cousin; his grave that I had never seen, way overdue for four years.  

I loved him.  Yet we didn't talk last time, and I don't expect us to talk during this visit. Mark will be there in spirit.

You know, in an odd way, I suspect he would have understood me, of all the family. And that's what I needed to know.  

Silence- where I could not be strong, to be one with my vulnerability.    

And to be there in the moment, to be mindful; body, mind and spirit.   

 To be me. 

I'll be damned.

Two days ago, I admit, I had experienced a downpour of tears...

*thunder in background*
 Thanks for the cue. 


...when I got the message that my SIL's water broke.  She was in labor.   That was the first pregnancy/labor since I found out I couldn't have children, even more after the hysterectomy last February.

Hello, emotional breakdown again!

There was a pile of used tissues and empty water bottles multiplying through the day, and I was thinking- "When do I get a break?"   Swinging to the childless/infertility blog list I have on my blog, I was hoping to find support or some word of wisdom.

Path in Life's post, "Hiding" hit me very close.  She wrote about keeping to herself, distancing herself from friends and family with babies. She described how she is perceiving that-Maybe you could call it hiding in the short term, but in my mind it feel like it is more like preparing for the future.

Hmmm.  I hadn't truly thought it in a different viewpoint- but it does make sense...  

That's very simple.  


I'll be damned. 

To set up goals, to check things off list (like my bucket list that I shared in a previous post), and I can also look into doctoral programs (counseling psychology) and setting up my own non-profit business, incorporating skills and activities I love, such as working with survivors of domestic violence, walking labyrinths, re-discovering womanhood and oh yeah, world peace.  To prepare for the future, with what one already has, instead of feeling sorry for oneself on what one can't have.  

Granted, that's very much easy to say, especially with me newly childless- but this is a good step to start soon or later. :)



P.S. And oh yes, my new nephew is beautiful.  He is small in my brother's hands, but someone that I already find myself in love with- a little boy that we can explore together at the comic cons or renaissance faires when he's older, to read beloved childhood books to and introduce night full of  the stars and their stories (like Orion's story), to ride hardcore roller coasters with, a child that will find someone to talk with when he needs space from his parents (love his parents, but you know how it is...!), to pass on the love of books and nature.   I'll look forward to that when I see the new family at Christmas, with small steps, which is good.  That will give me time to prepare for the future, to hold him, and to teach him sign language.     I might as get to test the water by seeing if I can hold a friend's 2 months old baby and see how I can handle that sometimes soon.  Yes, it may mean I'll cry while holding the baby.... I'd like to hold my nephew when I see him in person during the holidays.

But hey, you know what?  I'm okay with that.

http://gregbenzphotography.com/family/family-photos-on-the-stone-arch-bridge/